


the blood in my veins

by greenbergsays



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (mostly) Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - Dark, Codependency, Demisexuality, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Possessive Behavior, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 00:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3748282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbergsays/pseuds/greenbergsays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky doesn’t know a lot but he knows this: if there’s a world out there where he doesn’t have Steve, he hopes it’s a world he isn’t long for. That version of Bucky Barnes would be a sad sonuvabitch to see.</p><p><i>That</i> Bucky Barnes is better off dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the blood in my veins

**Author's Note:**

> This story came from a single thought and that thought was, "Bucky and Steve being ridiculously possessive of each other." 8k later and I question my life choices.
> 
> I hesitate to call this actual dark 'verse because I intended for it to be darker before I decided to split the difference and try to keep them as close to canon as possible while still following the same idea. That being said, there is a definite divergence from canon personalities as far as what Steve and Bucky will or won't do and that is directly connected to their feelings for each other, so. Semi-dark 'verse?
> 
> Please note that there might be some period-typical ableist language used throughout. The story is told from Bucky's point of view and therefore has a lot of what was deemed acceptable in the 1930s. I would also like to apologize in advance to any history buffs reading this; it's probably not accurate at all.

Here’s the truth about Steve and Bucky: they don’t have any fucking excuses.

It isn’t fate or magic that drives them, it’s just plain ole human  _greed_. They’re so goddamn greedy for all of each other; for every touch and smile and word. Doesn’t matter when it starts, all that matters is that it’s there, underneath their skin. They need each other like they’ll never need anyone or anything else.

Bucky doesn’t know a lot but he knows this: if there’s a world out there where he doesn’t have Steve, he hopes it’s a world he isn’t long for. That version of Bucky Barnes would be a sad sonuvabitch to see.

 _That_ Bucky Barnes is better off dead.

 

*

 

He doesn’t remember when they met. Doesn’t care, either. What use are those memories to him? As far as he’s concerned, life didn’t actually start until there was Steve.

Here’s what Bucky does remember: being eight years old on the playground and some punk pushing him off the swings. Just comes right up behind him and  _shoves_ and there goes Bucky Barnes, falling into the dirt. The kid laughs meanly, planting himself in the vacated seat, and Bucky’s mad but no where near as mad as Steve.

The blur that is his best friend runs right past Bucky, straight to the bully. At seven, Steve is the smallest kid in school, just as thin as he is short, but he’s already got a reputation for not taking anyone’s shit.

He shoves the kid who shoved Bucky but he’s not quite as effectual, far too small to actually do any damage. Not that that ever stops him.

“Give it back!” Steve shouts. “You can’t do that!”

Bucky grins as he watches. They’re so young but Bucky has already begun to see the way everyone underestimates Steve. The teachers look at him with pity and the other kids look at him like a target and Bucky thinks they’re all fucking stupid. He also thinks that he likes the advantage he has, seeing Steve for who he really is. He sees the lion where everyone else sees a lamb.

Because that’s what Steve is. He’s a lion. He’s vicious and dangerous and already, he has Bucky; hook, line, and sinker. Eight years old and Bucky already knows nobody’ll ever have his attention the way Steve does.

The kid gets tired of Steve and hits him hard enough that Steve hits the dirt, too. If he was angry at being shoved, Bucky’s positively livid as he watches Steve go down. He grabs a fist full of dirt and tosses it in the kid’s eyes, satisfied as hell when the kid screams and falls backward.

They’ve defended each other before, multiple times, and Bucky even remembers a few of ‘em. This moment, though; this is when he realizes that Steve is  _his_ and nobody gets to touch him like that.

 

*

 

They get a little older, a little more independent.

When they’re at an age where that their parents don’t mind ‘em going off by themselves, he and Steve make a habit of sneaking into the picture shows. There’s a service door in an alley behind the theatre and they jimmy the lock to get inside since neither of them have the money to pay like upstanding citizens.

It’s fun as hell and they grin at each other in the darkened theatre, bickering quietly about which seats are the best in the house. It’s a moot argument because they always end up near the front. Steve’s eyesight ain’t all that great and if you ask Bucky, there’s no reason for them to even be there if Steve can’t enjoy the show.

That’s how they live life, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. One careless argument to the next while Bucky tries his damnedest to make Steve the happiest bastard in Brooklyn.  

Steve’s happiness is his happiness, after all, and he’s known that about as long as he’s known Steve.

 

*

 

Bucky is twelve years old the first time he rounds the corner to that alleyway and sees two guys bearing down on Steve. One goon holds Steve’s arms back while the other throws punches. They look at each other over the top of his head and grin, like it’s a game. Blood drips from Steve’s nose, smearing on his lips. Strangely, it isn’t the punches that Bucky zeroes in on in that moment.

No, what he sees are meaty hands digging into Steve’s soft, pale flesh and then Bucky sees red.

He doesn’t remember the fight. When he comes back to himself enough to remember anything, Steve is under his arm and there’s someone else’s blood on his knuckles and the idiots who thought they could hurt what was  _his_ are scrambling down the alley away from them.

Brooklyn’s not yet wise to the status quo but over the next few years, Bucky'll teach ‘em. It’ll be common knowledge soon enough that fucking with Steve means Bucky Barnes’ attention on you in a bad way and that’s something you’ll want to be avoiding.

Some idiots don’t learn but Bucky’s just fine with that. It’s one lesson he don’t mind teachin’ over and over again.

He looks down at Steve.

“Alright there, Rogers?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Are  _you_?”

“Ain't the one who got wailed on,” he says, ruffling Steve’s hair. Truth is, he doesn’t feel alright. Anger still burns brightly in his chest but the longer Steve stays pressed up against him, the faster it ebbs out. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

They’ve only gotten a few steps when Steve says, “I can take care of myself, y'know.”

Bucky snorts.

“Shit, Steve, you think I don’t know that?” He asks, shaking his head. “I’m probably the only person in the world besides your Ma that knows what a tough bastard you are. Doesn’t mean I gotta stand by and watch you get hit. What were you even thinking, takin’ on two guys like that? Dumb punk.”

“Who you callin’ a punk, Barnes?” Steve shoots back but it lacks the heat of real anger. Bucky can call Steve whatever he wants and Steve won’t mind; they both know it. He sighs. “Don’t be mad. I just couldn’t let ‘em get away with it.”

Bucky doesn’t know what they did; he doesn’t ask because he doesn’t care. All he cares about is Steve and he can’t have Steve walkin’ around thinking Bucky’s upset with him.

It’s impossible for Bucky to be mad at him for standing up to bullies when that’s one of the things he loves most about Steve.

“Not mad at you, stupid,” he says gruffly. “Just mad at the assholes who thought they could put hands on you.”

Steve’s smile is huge and bright and it warms Bucky from the inside out.

When they get back to the Rogers’ house, he cleans off Steve’s face as gently as he can, careful not to hurt him. Steve grabs the rag after he’s done and tends to Bucky’s bruised knuckles.

From that point on, there’s no question about where Bucky belongs in a fight. It’s right by Steve’s side like always.

 

*

 

They’re fuckin’ handsy with each other, is the thing.

It’s not about sex, not yet.

Steve’s got a bad heart, weak lungs, and about a million other things wrong with him. Doctors always say it’s a miracle he’s even alive which is stupid if you ask Bucky. It ain’t a miracle; it’s  _Steve_.

So no, it’s not about sex. It’s about comfort.

It’s about Bucky pressing close and making Steve breathe with him when he’s close to an asthma attack. It’s about laying Steve on his chest when they sleep at each other’s houses, letting Steve hear his heartbeat so he can try to match his own to it. It’s about the way he fits a hand on the back of Steve’s neck, just to touch; just because he needs to feel Steve’s skin under his fingertips.

It’s about how Steve smiles at him any time they touch and how Bucky feels lighter when he does.

If he stays close longer than necessary, holds Steve longer than needed, just because he likes it - likes how it feels when there’s no space between them - well, that’s between him and Steve.

 

*

 

When boys reach a certain age, they’re expected to act a certain way. To say certain things and be preoccupied by certain whims.

Bucky learns that at fifteen, he’s supposed to be focused on girls.

He hears the other boys in his class discuss what they like about girls; which ones are the prettiest, what they’d like to do to those girls if they had the chance. Bucky doesn’t join in because he doesn’t have an opinion on the matter.

His father asks if a girl’s caught his eye and Bucky, deflecting, says all of them. He’s called a heartbreaker and given a clap on the back like he’s done something to be proud of.

The truth is, he doesn’t care about girls. He thinks they’re pretty but he thinks it in the same abstract way that he thinks his mother or Mrs. Rogers is pretty; the way he thinks the skyline at sunset is pretty. He looks at other boys and he thinks they’re handsome but it’s a detached observation. None of it makes him feel anything.

Steve, though; Steve makes him feel plenty. Steve is goddamn gorgeous.

It’s a bit of an odd thought to have, he thinks. He’s fifteen and his body is only just starting to fill out in the right places. Steve is fourteen and he is forever a body of gangly limbs and skin stretched tight over jutting bones. They’re still in that awkward phase of teenagerdom where nothing seems to fit quite right and they feel too clumsy in their own bodies. It’s not exactly an age where the unbiased eye would apply a word like _gorgeous_ and especially not to someone like Steve.

Bucky Barnes has never had an unbiased eye when it comes to Steve and he’ll use any fucking word he chooses.

He watches Steve get undressed sometimes, watches as each patch of skin is revealed, and he’s not stupid. He sees what everyone else sees; stick-figure arms and narrow hips, a tiny little ass, his spine protruding from his back like it’ll break skin at any moment. His jawline is too big for such a small body and his cheeks are sunken in. His stomach barely surpasses ribs that are far too easy to count.

Thing is, it’s not the body itself that makes Bucky want so much. It’s the fact that it’s  _Steve’s_ body. He wants his hands on those narrow hips because they belong to Steve. He wants to put his mouth on each notch of his spine because it’s Steve’s spine and Bucky loves every part of him.

So he watches and he covets and he doesn’t even try to be subtle about it. That’s probably why Steve catches him.

“What’re you looking at, Barnes?” He asks, holding his shirt with long, thin fingers. He’s somewhere between playful and defensive, his mouth quirking in amusement but his shoulders hunching forward defensively.

“You,” Bucky says simply, coming to stand behind him. He lets himself reach out and touch Steve’s hip the way he wants to, caressing the skin there. He leans forward, pressing his nose just behind Steve’s ear and breathes him in; the scent of soap and sweat and something indescribable that’s all Steve. “Got a problem with that, Rogers?”

This is the turning point for them.

If Steve says _yes_ , if he breaks away and tells Bucky not to do shit like that, then Bucky will know where the line is. He’ll know where they stand with each other and he’ll stay on the side Steve’s comfortable with, take what Steve’s willing to give him and be goddamn happy with it.

Steve doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t say _yes_.

Instead, he leans back against Bucky - just a little, just enough to be noticeable - and his shoulders relax. He says, “no,” like he’s divulging a secret and that’s how Bucky knows they’re on the same page.

“Good,” he says, low. And then he rewards Steve’s honesty with a bit of his own. “‘Cause you’re the only one I wanna be lookin’ at.”

“Good,” Steve parrots. He cranes his head to look back at Bucky and there’s an expression on his face that Bucky’s never seen before; it’s serious and a little bit dangerous. “‘Cause I wanna be the only one you look at.”

 

*

 

A girl named Angie gives Bucky his first kiss.

It’s nothing more than a press of lips early one morning and then she’s pulling away, blushing and running back to her friends. To say it was unexpected would be an understatement.

He looks to Steve and barely has time to see the livid expression on his face before Steve turns abruptly on his heel and stalks into the the school. His back is rigid and his fists are clenched at his side and in that moment, he looks like a predator in need of prey.

Bucky is captivated.

He tries to catch up, calls out, “Steve!”

But for the first time in either of their lives, Steve ignores him. He doesn’t pause and he doesn’t look back; he just goes straight to class. It throws Bucky completely off-kilter.

He doesn’t know what to do. They’re in different classes so he has to wait to talk to Steve and that’s not sitting well with Bucky. He’s distracted all day, fidgeting in his seat so much that his teacher calls him out on it twice. He doesn’t care; Steve’s upset with him and can’t fucking  _fix_ it.

He’s so preoccupied that he doesn’t even remember Angie exists until he sees her crying in the halls halfway through the day. Someone has cut off her long braid until her hair is almost as short as Bucky’s.

Bucky doesn’t know what makes him scan the hallway, maybe it’s some instinct ingrained so deeply into him that he doesn’t even notice it anymore, but that’s how he catches Steve watching her cry. His brow is furrowed and his eyes are troubled but it’s his mouth that catches Bucky’s attention.

The corner of it is twitching, like he can’t decide whether he wants to frown or smile.

Steve looks away from Angie, turning his gaze straight at Bucky, and when their gazes connect, his expression changes. There’s grim satisfaction lurking there, readily apparent even across the distance between them, and that’s when it hits Bucky.

Steve’s the one that cut off her braid.

 

*

 

Bucky doesn’t get to corner Steve until after school but corner him he does. It’s easy as anything to push him against the wall right inside the Rogers’ doorway, hauling him in the air until he’s being held up entirely by Bucky’s weight pressed against him. Mrs. Rogers has an evening shift and won’t be back for hours; the perfect time for a conversation like this one.

None of it goes the way he expects. He planned on trapping Steve the whole way home, thought he’d get spittin’ mad and fight Bucky, but it’s the exact opposite. Steve is fucking docile in his arms the way he  _never_ is, not even when he’s sick. He lets Bucky have this power play, lets him show dominance in that moment.

“Why’d you do it, Rogers?” Bucky asks, breathless. He’s been irritated most of the day, knowing Steve’s upset with him, but all of his anger disappeared the moment he got Steve against him.

Steve doesn’t try to play coy. He stares at Bucky calmly and says, “she kissed you.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky leans close, lets their noses brush together. The air between them is charged with something new and heady; Bucky feels a little drunk on it. His voice drops an octave. “Is that all it takes to make Steve Rogers angry?”

“Yes.” Steve’s voice is breathy but not with the tell-tale signs of an asthma attack; this is new. His body arches into Bucky’s like he can’t get close enough. “You don’t belong to her; she didn’t have that right.”

 _You belong to me_ is left unsaid between them but Bucky hears it loud and clear. He grins.

“That what this is about?” Like he doesn’t already know. He leans forward to let their lips barely brush as he speaks and the tease just might kill him. “You jealous, Stevie? Wanted it to be you instead?”

Steve is still pliant in Bucky’s arms but he hisses, “ _yes_ ,” like he’s never been so goddamn angry in his life. He doesn’t wait for Bucky to say anything else, barreling right on to add, “now  _kiss me_.”

Bucky does. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated and so good that his toes curl in his boots.

He’s got a bit of a sweet tooth, that Bucky Barnes. Loves anything sugary and has sampled every kind of candy he can get his hands on and still, nothing comes close to the taste of Steve’s mouth. He groans softly, pressing his hips forward as he licks his way inside, craving like he never has before. He’s getting hard and so is Steve, he can feel it against his hip, and Bucky feels lightheaded by the idea that he can affect Steve this way.

He pulls back reluctantly, pressing small kisses against Steve’s lips and then his jaw, giving Steve a chance to take a few steadying breaths. When he pulls back to get a good look at him - kiss-stung lips and mussed hair, blown pupils, so much pale skin that Bucky needs under his tongue - he finds that Steve is glaring at him.

“Nobody else,” Steve says, angry, arching into another kiss. He bites harshly at Bucky’s bottom lip and then licks at the blood that wells there. Bucky presses him further into the wall and in between more of those biting kisses, Steve repeats, “ _No one else_ gets to do this to you.”

Bucky is more than happy to agree. He can’t imagine this feeling as good with anyone else; Angie certainly hadn’t even come close to making his blood boil the way Steve does now.

They end up in Steve’s bed, trading kisses until it’s almost time for Mrs. Rogers to get home and they have to make themselves presentable. Bucky leaves before she gets there because there’s no way he’ll be able to hide the way he fucking _shakes_ with the need to taste Steve again.

 

*

  
He was Steve’s first kiss - his only kiss - and that knowledge fills him with a primal sort of satisfaction. Steve wasn’t Bucky’s first kiss, though, and he never stops being angry about that.

 

*

 

Winter almost takes his entire fucking world one year.

Oh, sure, Steve’s been sick before; often even. But that winter, a fever takes hold of him and won’t let go, not for anything. His weak lungs get weaker, his bad heart gets worse, and it’s enough that Sarah Rogers eventually calls on a priest to give the Last Rites.

Bucky’s been kept away from up until that point. It’s the longest they’ve ever been apart and Steve doesn’t know it at the time, but Bucky’s half-mad with fury at not being allowed to see him. The only reason he’s let it go on thus far is because he _likes_ Sarah Rogers; she’s the only other person in the world who Steve holds in high opinion and that counts for something in Bucky’s book.

He spends every spare moment lurking around the Rogers’ house, needing to be as near to Steve as possible, and the moment he sees the priest, any good will he has towards Sarah goes out the window. She must realize it, too, because she doesn’t even try to stop him when he pushes his way into the house.

The priest is standing in the small foyer between the kitchen and living room - just inches away from where Bucky first kissed Steve - waiting to be pointed in the right direction. Bucky breezes past him without so much as a glance, following the hallway to Steve’s room.

It’s hot and dark in there, the only light coming from the window; sun filtering through thick curtains. Steve is under a pile of blankets, his breath so shallow that Bucky can hardly hear the perpetual wheeze there, and he’s not fucking  _moving_. Bucky doesn’t even pause to kick off his shoes before he climbs into bed next to his whole goddamn universe, crawling under the blankets and folding himself around Steve’s weakened form.

His skin is hot and clammy wherever Bucky touches him and his pulse, when Bucky checks it, is too weak. Steve blinks at him, hazy, like he can’t even _see_ Bucky. He leans into the touches, makes a sound that might be Bucky’s name, and Bucky starts to shake with fear and rage and a thousand other emotions he can’t even begin to name.

Steve can’t die. He  _can’t_. Bucky doesn’t know how  _breathe_ without him, doesn’t even know how to  _begin_ acting human if Steve isn’t there to give him a reason.

He puts his mouth to Steve’s good ear.

“You listen to me, Rogers,” he demands, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re gonna get better. You don’t get to die, not ‘til I say you can, got that? God can’t have you; you’re _mine_.”

A strangled noise comes from the direction of the bedroom door, telling Bucky that he has an audience, but he doesn’t care enough to see if it’s Mrs. Rogers or the priest or both. Steve’s skin is under his fingertips and his labored breath ghosts across Bucky’s neck with every exhale and that right there is the only thing that matters. Steve is still breathing, everyone else can go to hell.

The priest doesn’t give the Last Rites. As far as Bucky knows, he doesn’t even step foot in the room.

Bucky doesn’t leave the bed and no one’s stupid enough to try and make him. Steve sleeps pressed close to him and the fever eventually breaks. He wakes up one morning and smiles sleepily, face still pressed against Bucky’s shoulder, and that’s that. Steve gets better and Bucky’s vigil is over, everything goes back to normal.

Sarah never looks at him the same way again.

 

*

 

“C’mon, Rogers, you can do better than that.”

Bucky grins, holding his hands loosely in front of his face, bouncing back and forth on his toes. Steve’s in front of him in a similar stance but unmoving, his brows furrowed in concentration. He’s got a bruise near his eye and a split lip from yet another fight and Bucky’s tryin’ hard not to think about the assholes that did that to him.

Steve throws a punch again but it’s sloppy, his body jerking forward with it instead of moving fluidly like Bucky showed him. It’s easy enough to sidestep and Bucky catches him by the wrist, tugging a little. Steve stumbles and almost falls but Bucky pulls him up and back against his chest.

“You’re not balancing yourself, Stevie,” he says without letting go. He caresses the inside of Steve’s wrist just because he can; because it makes Steve lean into him a little more. “You’re fightin’ like you’re bigger than you are, that’s why you lose. Just use your size against ‘em.”

“Easy for you to say,” Steve grumbles. He doesn’t make any moves to get out of Bucky’s hold.

“What are you boys doing?”

They both look up at the same time to see Sarah standing in the foyer, watching them with a frown. Her eyes flicker down to where Bucky’s got one hand still around Steve’s wrist and the other around his waist before looking straight at Bucky.

It’s only been a few weeks since Steve recovered from the fever that almost took him and in that time, Sarah has barely left them alone. She watches Bucky like a hawk whenever he’s over, frowning whenever he lets a touch linger or gets too close. He can see it her eyes, how badly she wants to say something to Steve but Sarah’s a smart woman. She knows when to pick her battles.

Bucky lets go slowly - careful not to move too quickly lest he convey guilt that he doesn’t feel - and gives Steve time to right himself before stepping back. He stares at Sarah as he does this, unblinking, trying to telegraph his defiance without words. Her frown deepens and he knows he’s succeeded.

“Teaching Steve how to fight,” Bucky says finally, putting on his most charming smile. “He got into it again with Bobby Wells.”

“I see.” She purses her lips. “Okay. Just...don’t roughhouse too much.”

She goes into the kitchen under the pretense of starting dinner but she keeps glancing back towards them every few seconds. He pretends he doesn’t feel her eyes on them and claps Steve on the shoulder.

“Try again.”

 

*

 

Bucky takes one look at the guy Steve’s fighting with and sighs.

“Can’t you pick ‘em smaller?” He asks Steve and then dodges the guy’s fist where he tries to punch Bucky in the side.

Steve spits blood and laughs. “Where’s the fun in that?”

There’s not much talking after that. The guy is bigger than Bucky and not nearly as clumsy as he looks, unfortunately. It’s a rough fight and Bucky holds his own but that doesn’t mean he’ll walk away from this unscathed. He’s just wondering how long this’ll last before the asshole gets tired when he takes a punch to the nose. Blood spurts and the pain makes his eyes water.

“Fuck!”

He stumbles back, leaning against the brick wall. The guy grins at him, stalking forward. Before he gets another hit in, there’s a  _thwack!_ and then a clatter that echoes through the alley. The guy falls to the ground.

Steve stands behind him with what used to be a two-by-four; it’s broken now, part of it on the asphalt by his feet. He stares down at the guy with a frighteningly blank expression that only disappears when he looks up at Bucky. Dropping the two-by-four, he steps over the body and goes to straight to him, fitting himself under Bucky’s arm and helping him stand up straight.

“Nice job,” Bucky says, grinning, as he nudges the guy with his foot. “Guess you don’t need me after all, huh?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Steve snorts and then looks down at the body. “Is he dead?”

Bucky chokes out a laugh.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Rogers,” he says. “But I don’t think you’re strong enough to kill a guy that size.”

Steve pinches his side. “Jerk.”

“Punk.”

 

*

 

Word gets around about that particular fight and the more it circulates, the more outrageous the story gets. Bucky laughs with every retelling but he doesn’t correct anyone because it finally makes Brooklyn wise to something they haven’t learned yet.

It’s not just Bucky Barnes you gotta watch out for.

 

*

  
Steve’s got a neighbor, an old woman that lives by herself. She’s never liked Bucky and over the years, that dislike has extended to Steve. Like Bucky’s a disease and Steve’s been infected.

One summer, the old woman’s granddaughter comes to stay with her; the girl is tall and beautiful and all the boys in the neighborhood fall instantly in love with her. She smiles at Bucky every time they pass, calling out hello in hopes he’ll stop and chat her up, but she never says hi to Steve; ignores his existence completely.

Bucky hates her for that alone.

She makes the mistake of saying hi to them one afternoon when her grandmother’s around. The old woman yanks at the girl’s arm, pulling her away from where she’s leaning over a rail to wave at Bucky. As they pass, he hears the old woman say, “you stay away from those boys; they’ve got the devil in them.”

She doesn’t know that they’ve both heard her. He doesn’t know if she’d care if she knew. After all, she isn’t the first to say that about him - about  _them_ \- and she certainly won’t be the last.

Bucky laughs quietly and grins at Steve, bumping their shoulders together. “You got the devil in you, Rogers?” He asks, playful.

Steve cuts him a sly look and says, “not at this exact moment, no.”

Bucky’s mouth feels suddenly dry; he suddenly wants to be anywhere but outside, out in the open. He wants to be somewhere private, where he can make good on the promise he sees in those beloved blue eyes. His hand goes to the back of Steve’s neck, squeezing lightly as he brings him closer.

“You will soon,” he whispers in Steve’s ear, delighting in shiver it causes.

Steve bites his lip, his cheeks turning rosy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They walk a little faster.

 

*

 

“How long we got?” Bucky asks as he zips up his pants. His cock is still hard, aching in his pants, but he adjusts himself and ignores it. The shirt comes next.

From behind him, Steve says, “I don’t know. Half an hour, maybe?”

Bucky nods. He’ll have to leave before then. They won’t be calm enough by the time Sarah gets home for him to stick around; they rarely are.

This is the hazard of still living at home with their families, having a relationship no one wants them to have; they don’t always get to finish what they started. Sometimes they just don’t have enough time for everything they want, especially not when Steve needs to be held afterwards. Bucky will never leave him to deal with the comedown alone.

He finishes buttoning his shirt but he doesn’t turn around until Steve says, “okay.”

This is the only way he’s able to walk away; turning his back on Steve until they’re both dressed. Until there’s not all that skin calling to Bucky, begging to be touched and marked.

The clothes don’t help. He looks at Steve, at his thin wrists peeking out from the sleeves of his shirt, his narrow hips, the rigid line of his back, and he  _wants_. He wants to push Steve down on the bed and get them out of their clothes again, wants to touch and tease and take until the hunched line of Steve’s back loosens, until the perpetual grimace from pain Bucky can’t even begin to contemplate disappears and there’s only pleasure.

It only lasts a few moments, that expression, but Bucky hoards it like he hoards everything else about Steve. It’s for him only, it’s _because_ of him, and that thought is what brings him off most times.

“You leavin’ now?” Steve asks. His expression is reluctant and yearning and it breaks Bucky’s damn heart to see it, know he’s the cause of it.

Bucky looks at Steve now, wrapped up in his too big clothes but with an erection that’s still visible in his pants, and he’s suddenly _pissed_ he won’t get to see those few seconds that Steve’s so caught up in feelin’ good that he doesn’t register the pain. He curses Sarah Rogers and then he curses himself for taking too much time earlier.

He crowds Steve, pulls him close until Bucky’s erection is pressed into his stomach and Steve’s is against his thigh. Steve gasps, moans, clutches at Bucky’s arms like he doesn’t know whether to bring him close or push him away. Bucky knows the feeling; they don’t have _time_.

He holds Steve close, anyways, gets his mouth to Steve’s good ear. “Don’t touch yourself when I leave,” he begs, voice low. Doesn’t know where that comes from but once he’s said he likes the idea of it. “Don’t come ‘til I’m with you again, okay?”

“Wha - _Bucky_ ,” Steve says, confused and breathless. “Are you gonna…?”

“Yeah.” He grins, rubbing his nose against the shell of Steve’s ear, feeling the shiver that passes through him. “Soon as I’m alone, Stevie, gonna think about you in here, needin’ me so bad. Needin’ to get off but waiting for me. I’ll come so hard, you got no idea. Come just from the thought of you achin’ for me. You gonna give that to me? Gonna let me have that?”

If Steve says no, that’s fine. Bucky’ll just get off thinkin’ about Steve gettin’ off. They both know it, both know Steve can say no and it won’t change anything. He’s said no to plenty of things before; things he doesn’t want to do at that moment or things he doesn’t want, period.

It’s just the way they work. There’s no secrets between them, no thought that goes unshared.  One of ‘em has an idea and they discuss it ‘til they know whether or not it’s an option.

Steve says, “yeah,” breathless, like the idea of it is just as appealing to him as it is to Bucky. Sometimes - not all the time, but  _sometimes_ \- he likes to be bossed around a bit. Likes to be told what to do and when Bucky gives that to him, it’s goddamn beautiful.

Bucky groans, presses kisses to Steve’s throat. If he kisses Steve’s mouth now, he’ll never leave.

“Be good for me,” he says, squeezing Steve’s hips, and then pulls away. Steve sways, unsteady, and his eyes are just a little glassy as they follow Bucky out the door.

 

*

 

The next day, he barely gets Steve in his lap, a hand around his cock, before Steve’s moaning and coming all over Bucky’s fingers. It’s just as beautiful as Bucky knew it would be and he keeps Steve where he is, petting him all over and crooning sweet things in his ear until he’s ready to go again.

He fucks Steve as slow as he dares with their limited time, until Steve has to bite at Bucky’s shoulder to muffle his cries. Bucky kisses away a few leaked tears, afterwards, staying on top of Steve until he’s calmed down; just the way Steve likes.

“You okay?” Bucky whispers, running fingers through Steve’s sweaty hair.

“Yeah.” Steve nods, looking perfectly content. He leans up and murmurs, “thanks,” into a kiss.

  
*

 

Sarah passes away when Steve’s twenty-one and that’s when everything changes for them. Bucky isn’t about to leave him on his own, no matter what Steve says, so he moves outta his parents’ house and into an apartment with Steve.

It an artsy neighborhood in a certain part of town; the kind of area that everyone knows exists but refuses to talk about in polite company. They chose the area for a reason, of course, and everyone is wise enough not to make mention of it when Bucky gives out the address to his family.

The first night in their new apartment, Bucky flops onto the bed next to Steve and grins at him.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, smile bright and eyes playful. “Come here often?”

“Oh my God, Buck.” Steve covers his eyes with one hand and shoves him away with the other. “That was terrible. Get away from me, I can’t even look at you.”

Bucky laughs his way into a kiss. Steve tries to deny him but it’s halfhearted at best; this is  _their_ bedroom in  _their_ apartment, where they don’t have to worry about parents coming home or someone walking in on them. They’re both eager to find out what that means, to know what it feels like to be together without having to rush.

It feels pretty fucking fantastic as far as Bucky’s concerned.

 

*

 

Bucky’s worked down at the docks since he was old enough to work at all. It’s shit work but it keeps them fed and that’s all that matters to him. Of course, that doesn’t mean that it makes coming home sore and tired any easier.

It was hard enough when he lived with his family but it’s absolute  _hell_ living on the third floor of an apartment building and having to walk up the stairs every evening. He swears the only reason he makes it is ‘cause he knows Steve’s waiting for him at the top.

He stops to rest at the top, leaning against the wall until the spasming in his legs stops. All these years and his legs still feel like jelly when he comes home.

The guy that lives across the hall from them is just coming out of his apartment and he stops when he sees Bucky. His name’s Evan but both Bucky and Steve know that he used to be an Eva because when his parents come to visit, they refuse to call him anything else. Steve doesn’t like his parents at all and, in fact, glares at them every chance he gets.

Evan grins, slinging his work uniform over his shoulder so he can lock his door.

“Hey, Bucky,” he says with a nod. “Hard day?”

Buck groans, pushing off the wall to hobble closer to his apartment. Just a few more feet and then  _Steve._

“The worst,” he says. “That place’ll fuckin’ kill me.”

“You should try gettin’ someone to massage your back; it’s helped me a couple of times after a rough shift.” Evan smiles. “If Steve’s not up for it, I can help you out sometime. Just, y’know, not tonight. Night shift.”

It isn’t a sexual offer. Evan’s tastes are more feminine and besides that, he seems to know about Steve and Bucky even though he’s never actually said anything. Still, it doesn’t sit well, the thought of someone besides Steve touching him like that.

Bucky is saved from finding a nice way to turn him down when the door to their apartment opens and Steve appears in the doorway. His mouth his pressed in a thin line and his body is tensed, itching for a fight.

“Bucky,” he says and then steps aside to let him inside. Evan calls his goodnight and heads down the hallway; Bucky wonders if he can feel Steve’s glare on his back.

Steve shuts the door only after Evan disappears and as soon as he does, he turns on Bucky and tugs at his shirt. “Get this off,” he demands. “Get it all off.”

Bucky does as he’s told without a word of sass but only because he loves Steve angry. His boy is beautiful this way, a righteous angel waiting to dole out punishment. Of course, Bucky is of the opinion that Steve is beautiful in any way - _every_ way - but there’s something special about Steve when he’s angry.

Only thing that can top an angry Steve is Steve during sex; pliant and greedy and begging for it so sweetly, no matter what _it_ happens to be.

As soon as Bucky’s outta his clothes, Steve’s herding him to their bed and pushing him down. Bucky settles on his stomach and Steve climbs right on top of him. There’s no time to ask questions or make any smart remarks before Steve starts digging the heels of his hands right into the middle of Bucky’s back.

It’s the exact fucking spot that twinged the whole way home, like Steve’s got some sort of homing device that lets him know where Bucky’s in pain. He digs into it and twists, rolls his palms up and down over it.

Bucky groans, fists clenching in their sheets. “Fuck, Stevie, right there,” he hisses and then relaxes into the bed.

Steve doesn’t say anything in return. He works in silence, taking Bucky apart with his hands one muscle group at a time until Bucky feels like a puddle of goo. His cock his hard against the sheets and he can feel Steve’s erection through his pants, pressing into his skin.

When it’s over, Bucky fumbles for Steve’s hand over his shoulder, bringing it forward so he can kiss those fingers that he loves so much.

“Gonna fuck me?”

Steve’s voice is breathy, holding none of the anger from earlier, when he asks, “do you want it?”

“You know I do.” Bucky grins over his shoulder, caressing the palm he still has trapped between his fingers. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Take care of me.”

Steve makes a desperate little noise in the back of his throat and then he does. He takes such good care of Bucky, playing with him for as long as Bucky wants him to before fitting himself inside. His whole body shakes as they fuck but his thrusts are hard, deep, like he has to prove.

Bucky fuckin’ loves it.

Afterwards, he’s sore for completely different reasons and very, very satisfied. Steve’s draped across him, letting Bucky pet him as he comes down.

“Nobody else is puttin’ their hands on you,” Steve says, when the pleasure’s finally faded and he’s himself again.

Bucky grins and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Wouldn’t dream of lettin’ ‘em, Stevie. Not without your permission.”

Steve seems satisfied by that answer.

 

*

 

They go to the dance halls sometimes, much to the relief of Bucky’s family and Sarah when she was alive. It’s not all that fun for them but they do it out of expectation more than anything.

Bucky hates it because he can’t dance with Steve - couldn’t, even if two fellas dancing wasn’t liable to cause a riot; Steve’s weak lungs won’t allow it - and because the smoky atmosphere doesn’t do great things for Steve’s lungs.

Steve hates it because he hates watching Bucky dance with girls.

Bucky does, however, love to dance and Steve loves the expression on his face when he does it. The rest is easily ignored if they put their minds to it. So they don’t make a habit of it but they do go sometimes, when Steve knows Bucky’s got that restless energy about him.

It’s on such a night that Bucky catches sight of Steve arguing with two fellas near the bar. One of those fellas happens to be Al Murdock, a stocky, freckle-faced redhead that he and Steve used to go to school with and who works with Bucky down at the docks. There’s a girl behind Steve looking relieved and a little scared and the unfamiliar fella isn’t taking too kindly to Steve stepping into whatever it was that happened. Bucky abandons his partner without a glance, moving through the crowd to join Steve.

Al looks nervous, glancing around them, and it only takes two sweeps across the room for him to zero in on Bucky coming towards them. His eyes widen. Bucky would be lying if he said he didn’t like the fear he saw there.

Al tugs at his friend’s arm. “It ain’t worth it,” he says, just as Bucky gets within earshot. “Let’s just go.”

Smart man but his friend? Not so much.

“My gal and I were having a grand time before this punk stepped in.”

This guy, whoever he is, ain’t Brooklyn born. It’s obvious in his voice and in the way he looks down at Steve, like Steve ain’t something to fear.

“Punk?” Bucky says, stepping close to sling an arm around Steve’s shoulders. He smiles sharply at the guy. “Who you callin’ a punk?”

He’s the only one allowed to call Steve that. Period.

“Jesus,” Al mutters and then takes a step backward.

“Seems to me you’ll be owin’ my pal here an apology,” Bucky says. He’s been having a good time so far and it’s making him feel generous; this doesn’t have to end badly. “And probably this nice lady here, seein’ as how he don’t take exception to fellas treating their ladies the right way.”

“An apology?” The guy takes a long drag out of the cigarette between his fingers and then blows the smoke right in Steve’s face. “That’s all the apology you’re getting from me,  _pal_.”

Steve starts coughing immediately and there’s nothing Bucky can do - fucking _nothing_ he can do - to stop the asthma attack. He hates this feeling of helplessness; hates that there’s something he can’t protect Steve from, no matter how hard he tries.

His first priority is getting Steve out of the dance hall and to his medicine at their apartment down the street. It’s the only thing that stops him from causing a scene right there in front of everybody.

Before they leave, his eyes meet Al’s. “You better not be around when I catch up to him, Murdock,” he warns. Al nods.

As he leaves, he hears Al - his voice a little shrill - saying, “Jesus  _Christ_ , do you know what you just  _did_?”

 

*

 

Bucky doesn’t leave until Steve’s fallen asleep. When he does, he prowls the street until he finds the guy; it’s a different dance hall and a different girl he’s harassing and really, Bucky feels like he’s doing the women of Brooklyn a goddamn favor when he kicks the guy’s teeth in.

He goes back to Steve without cleaning up, kissing him awake gently, careful to make sure he can still breathe. Experience says that he’ll have nightmares tonight about Steve’s wheezing gasps and he’s not about to add fuel to that fire.

“You take care of it?” Steve asks sleepily, rubbing their noses together.

“That even a question, Rogers?” Bucky returns, his voice low, a bit shaky with the remnants of cold fear and black rage still coursing through him.

Steve smiles and kisses him again. “Good.”

 

*

 

Al avoids Bucky at work for the next couple of days. He doesn’t even look in Bucky’s direction and Bucky’s both amused and annoyed by it by the third day. He comes home to Steve only to find a veritable feast on their table. It’s not much by normal standards but it’s more food at once than they’ve had all week.

“What’s this?” He asks.

Steve smirks at him. “Al’s girl visited today,” is all he says and Bucky understands. Not hard to spot an apology when he sees it laid out like this. It’s generous as fuck and something Steve needs dearly, especially with winter only a few weeks out. Bucky’s inclined to let bygones be bygones but only if --

“You lettin’ him off the hook?”

Steve shrugs. “I was never mad at  _him_ to begin with,” he says. “Just the asshole he was with.”

Bucky nods, bringing him close to give him the kiss  _hello_ that he forgot when he saw the food.

The next day, Bucky walks right up to Al and cuffs him on the back of his head, grinning. He has to hold back laughter when he sees the naked relief on Al’s face.

“Just don’t let it happen again,” he says and walks away.

 

*

 

Steve’s twenty-second birthday present requires Bucky’s attention for the entire month beforehand. He tries to hide it from Steve but Steve’s a perceptive bastard at the worst of times and it’s not like the extra hours that Bucky spends outside their apartment can go unnoticed. Not when Bucky’s usually clamoring to get home as fast as possible.

He comes home one night to find Steve waiting up for him, coiled on the couch like a snake waiting to strike. He’s angry.

“You steppin’ out on me, Barnes?”

There’s a look in his eye that tells Bucky if he said, “yes,” Steve would find whoever it is and end them. The idea of that makes Bucky hungry, makes him wanna say it just so he can watch.

“You know better than that,” he says because he’s not actually stupid and whatever he’d get out of watching Steve like that wouldn’t be worth the hurt it’d cause his guy.

No one else would be able to see the relief in Steve’s eyes or the way his shoulders relax just a little but Bucky’s known Steve their whole lives. There’s nothing hidden between them anymore, not even in body language.

“Then what is it?” He’s curious now; the fight’s gone out of him and Bucky’s grateful but he’s also a little disappointed. It’s been awhile since they fucked angry.

He sits down on the couch next to Steve, making himself comfortable before he pulls Steve’s small body into his lap. Steve lets him because he secretly likes this, being tucked against Bucky, even though he’ll never admit it. Steve won’t admit to a lot of things he likes; anyone else would find that annoying but Bucky just finds it endearing.

When Steve’s settled over his thighs and Bucky can get his hands up under Steve’s shirt, around his bare hips, he says, already distracted, “your birthday present.”

“Tell me.”

Bucky does. The sex is even better than it would’ve been angry.

 

*

 

It’s probably the stupidest goddamn thing they’ve ever done, tattooing their claim into each other’s skin, but it feels right in a way few things do nowadays. They’re easy enough to hide and aren’t big or gaudy enough to cause attention; simple, thin script on their left wrists that no one would notice unless they were really looking for it.

 _SR_ and  _JB_ respectively; a claim that’ll last their whole damn lives.

 

*

 

When the bombs drop in Pearl Harbor, Bucky sees the change in Steve. They've been defined by his moral code since they were kids and it’s like Steve just now realized there’s injustice outside of Brooklyn.

“We should enlist,” Steve says one night. “We should try to help."

Bucky shakes his head. “Not yet,” he begs quietly. “Just a little bit longer, Stevie, please.”

There’s only one thing Steve values above right and wrong and that’s Bucky. He isn’t particularly happy at the idea of doing nothing but he does it for Bucky and Bucky alone.

The whole damn world can say what they want about them. They can make assumptions about the way things go and who takes care of who and they’ll always be fucking wrong. Steve’s been taking care of him since they were kids, just as much as Bucky’s taken care of him; they just do it in different ways. In the ways that they’re needed.

Bucky presses his  _thank you_ into Steve’s mouth, slow and sweet, and they don’t talk about it after that.

 

*

 

The draft notice comes only a few months later, when Bucky is twenty four.

He’s twenty-four and Steve’s twenty-three and now the world’s found one more way to try and keep them apart. It won’t work, not in the long run - Brooklyn learned its lesson about Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers but the world apparently ain’t savvy yet - but in some ways, it will.

The night before he ships out, Bucky lays down next to Steve and touches him everywhere, more with the intent to remember than to take it further.

“We had a good run of it, didn’t we?” He asks in the dark.

Because here is the way the world will win: Steve will find Bucky again and again and they’ll fall back into the same patterns but they’ll never be who they are now, in this moment; not ever again. For all the darkness Bucky sees in himself, there’s still innocence left to take.

The first time, he'll be a man changed by war. The second, he'll be someone who’s forgotten he was a man at all. Steve will change, too, and it will be noticeable but Bucky will be - was always meant to be - the real tragedy in their story.

Bucky is the tragedy and Steve is the happy ending and Bucky’s okay with that, all things considered; at least they were a story at all.

Steve stares at him in the dark of their bedroom and neither of them mention the fear they see in each other’s eyes. Brooklyn’s never seen them truly afraid and they ain’t about to start the show now.

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve says, his voice steady. He lifts Bucky’s hand and kisses the tattoo on his wrist; their promise. “We did.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first foray into Stucky so I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Tentatively, there are 2-3 more parts of this universe planned but I'm not making any promises because I'm bad at keeping them.
> 
> Feel free to come cry about these two with me on [Tumblr](greenbergsays.tumblr.com)!


End file.
